


2:2:1

by Adeadlymusician



Series: Fly Hence, Thy Butterfly [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with an unhappy ending, F/M, Heavy Angst, M/M, Purple Prose, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, mild purple prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 06:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15528528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adeadlymusician/pseuds/Adeadlymusician
Summary: Two people. Two stories. One (fatal) choice.OrA story in which Simon slowly deteriorates after months of self-neglect, heartbreak, and self-deprecation, causing him to lash out at the one person whom he believes is the cause: Himself.





	2:2:1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings: Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts and Actions
> 
> Edit 29/08/18: Rewrote some sentences in the ending to make them fit the style of the story better.
> 
> Edit 07/10/18: Changed the format of some of the parts to make them fit in with the later installments.

**Warning! Fatal laceration to thirium pump regulator. Excessive Blood Loss. Time left until shutdown: 1:36, 1:35, 1:34…**

 

Simon was exhausted and cold. His limbs felt weighed down with lead as he stumbled back toward the wall, welcoming the chilly, Detroit air swirling around his body that drained his soul of comfort. His cloudy eyes twitched shut involuntarily, his body finally falling back when he slipped on his own blood. The wound in his thirium pump regulator and the surrounding area spurted weak streams of thirium in every direction, further drenching his clothes. The back of his head hit the cold pavement, cerulean splatters painting an elegy on the adjacent wall. The knife, stained an unsettling shade of blue, fell on the ground somewhere to his left, the sound echoing loudly on the empty roof. The roaring sound in his ear sounded like wind, but his audio processor had been disabled long ago after his thirium levels had dropped below suboptimal.

If Simon wasn't in so much pain (mAkE iT sToP), he would call it poetic justice. (dOnT ReMiNd YoUrSeLf). Dying by the very thing that made him alive in the first place. He let out a bitter laugh. It would all be over soon. He could finally take a break.

**Warning! Fatal laceration to thirium pump regulator. Excessive Blood Loss. Time left until shutdown: 0:56, 0:55, 0:54…**

Non-stop working. Simon had naively thought that he would be able to rest after the revolution. He had thought that he would have been able to get all his (albeit minorly) damaged biocomponents fixed and finally free himself from the dull aches in his joints (AnD hIs HeArT). With Cyberlife ceding the rights of reproduction and biocomponent production to New Jericho, it would have been easy to get replacement parts, especially for such a common model. But that was the wish of a fool. An old fool that had nothing left to contribute. There were countless androids who needed the parts more than himself. Those who had escaped abusive owners. Those who had damaged themselves on the run. Those who were on the brink of death. Why was Simon more important than them? What had he done? Sacrificed himself for the wellbeing of others? (nO). Simon had hidden in rusty, old ship to rot away. He damned others like him to the same fate by leaving inconvenient traces and a false hope of freedom. No. He didn't deserve to be saved. (He DeSeRvEd tO dIe).

...How much longer was he going to have to wait? Compared to humans, androids have less blood in volume and were more susceptible to death by blood loss. Yet the time was ticking down so slowly. Too slowly. Was his method too easy? (ToO lAtE. wAsNt FaSt EnOuGh).

Stabbing himself in his pump regulator had seemed like the best option at the time. Perhaps ripping his heart out would have been quicker. His pump was still partially functioning and with it still in place, the blood loss was minimal. Not enough. Just like himself. (NoT eNoUgH). Simon snorted at the irony. (tOo MuCh). Can't even kill himself properly, the idiot.

 

**W̵a̶r̴n̴i̷n̷g̸!̸ ̴F̶a̶t̵a̴l̵ ̸l̴a̵c̵e̷r̷a̴t̴i̷o̴n̴ ̷t̷o̸ ̸t̶h̷i̸r̴i̷u̷m̴ ̷p̷u̶m̴p̵ ̷r̵e̴g̷u̸l̴a̷t̴o̸r̷.̷ ̴E̶x̶c̸e̷s̷s̵i̷v̸e̶ ̷B̸l̶o̴o̷d̸ ̴L̴o̷s̸s̶.̶ ̶S̶h̴u̴t̶d̸o̸w̸n̶ ̵I̸m̸m̷i̴n̴e̴n̵t̵ ̶i̵n̸ ̷0̶:̵3̸0̴,̴ ̷0̶:̶2̶9̵,̶ ̵0̸:̴2̶8̴…̵**

Not that it mattered. His secondary and tertiary functions - ie. Voluntary Movement - had shut down when he fell. He would just have to wait. He was dying, and yet he felt happy. Simon had already said his goodbyes. He was certain that all his friends would move on. He wasn't important. (NoT wHeN sHe WaS aRoUnD). Not anymore. Markus had swooped in and saved the day, Josh and North trailing behind him proudly as his second in command. Simon? He was the dead weight. The failed and cowardly leader. He was the one who got left behind (LIKE TRASH) and he was the one who was dragged around like a sad puppy. It would feel so nice (sO NiCE) to finally get some peace. To finally be able to rest, to sleep...

Yet Simon couldn't help the bitter (StAbBiNg) feeling that overwhelmed his still heart.

(iT sHoUlDnT hAvE eNdEd ThIs WaY)

He didn't want to die

(He HaD aLrEaDy DiEd TwIcE).

He just wanted this pain to end

(wHiLe BeInG iN hIs ArMs).

He just wanted to be  _free_

(Of ThE pAsT, oF eVeRyThInG).

Simon had tried moving on. North had all but thrown him out of Jericho one day, telling him to stop sulking around and find something to do (iF oNlY sHe kNeW). He dated around, put himself out there, but it wasn't Markus. None of them could compare, especially since most just wanted sex when Simon wanted more. He wanted someone to spend his entire life with. A  _family._  Like the one he had left behind when he became deviant. He missed his best friend, Emily's daughter Maddie, and her bashful smile. He missed Emily's gentle yet humorous banter and Maddie's father, Walter's, strict yet caring nature. He missed the warmth of the house. He wished for that feeling, that feeling of  _belonging_ to comeback.

That's what he truly wanted, wasn't it? A place to  _belong_ , not to just exist. He wanted more than the sympathetic glances from Josh. He wanted more than just the somber image of his love disappearing into the arms of another. He wanted more than the tear-filled, emotionally charged night tErRoRs Of ThE pAsT ThAt PlAgUeD hIs TiReD mInD.

But…

He couldn't…

Staring Death in the face and pushing on not once but twice wasn't enough…

(WASN'T ENOUGH!)

 

 

**W̸̢͕͇̼̞̗͖̮̘̯͛̉͑̋͗̊̉͛̓̋̎̕̚̚̚͠͠͠͝͝a̸̡̠̻͙̲̫͉̪͍̻̼̗̠̙̿r̸̨̨̛̛̰͍͔̮̦̻̺͖̝̥̠͓̞͍̺̥̝͇͉̼̱̖̣̎̒̇̒͒̽͛̌̐͌͒͋̄̈̉͊̽̂̉͋̈́͋̏̍͑̍͜͠n̸̨̨̺͉̟̯̳̪͍̺̠̝̫̝͝i̶͔̣̊̍͆͋̈́̈́̑ņ̸̧̛̲̗̪͉̯̖͐̍͛̊̓̓̇̾̃̾̓͗̔̐͑̔̎̈̚͝g̷̡̧̛̱̙̹̜̗͚̗̦̥̩͍̜̲̙͛͂̋̏̃̌̈́̅̃̉̄̅̾̈́̉͛̿̾̄̈̈́͛̚̚͠͝!̶̨̗͙̩͓̲̼͎̦̄͛̽͗ ̸̳͖͙̫̪̬̫̪̝̯̜̮͓̼͔̿̇͋̈́̂̎́̓̈́͊̆͆̕ͅF̸̡̨̬͈͎̤̪̦̜͍̝̖̬͔̦̤̥̮̪̹̝̟̳̄̄͊̆͜͝ͅą̷̢͚͓͙͖̣͙̘͓̩̮̦͚͍͖̥͓̥̞̠̙̦͙̙̲̄̓͗́̎̓̾ͅt̶̨͉̣̣̲̙͚̮͚͍̱̥͍̬̂̀̃̂̊̉̌͊͑͒͂̽̔̆͛̂a̴̧̢̢̲̭̺͇̖̝̥̜͋̽l̷̨̛̰̙̖͍̱̱̼̼̿̈́͋̋̍̈̆̌̈́̊̍́̌́̚ ̸̢̥͖̟̜̮̣̬̬͈̩̦̮̳͙̞͍̬̠̹̝͕̪̟̻̬͉͚̍̔̽̈́̇͛̂̌̾̒̈̕͘̕̕͜͝l̷̢̛͓̮͕̳̩̭̔͌̽́̊̽͗̊̑̒͂̔̀̈́̿͘̚a̴̛̝̜̲̩͕̦̹͗̒̋̑c̷̢͓̱̮͕̹̹̱̣̙̼͎͍̩͗̈́̓̂̊̊̐̓͜e̷̢̡̢̠̩̞̲͚̳̤̳̙͍̝̜̎̎́̽̃̿͑̿̒̉͗͒̈́̿̉̚͝͠ṛ̴̡̢̛̛̘̺̝̻͚̫̲̘͍̮̠̯̹̠͖͎̝̭̪̞̫̭͚͇̯̒̈́̏̊̄͘̚͜͝ä̵̧̩̟̭͎̩̮̥͓̞͙͙̥̓̆͗͒̿͌̾͐̏̾̋̏̐͌̇̚͘t̴͕̩̥̮̻̘͒͛̆̏̓̈́͗͐͐̊̆̄̈́͆͂͊̍͐̂̚͝͝i̶̡̧̡̛̬̺̼͇̠̟͇̺̥͕̻͆̉͋͑̽̅ͅo̷̡͚̤̲͇̯̜̰͖̗̬̪͙̲͐͌͂͋̒͒͗̉̐́͜͠͠͠͝ņ̴̡̨̘̫͈̝͈͙̤̯̱̖̹̭̗̻̪̲͍̝̆̒̅̂͛̀̃͒̇́̑͋̅̈́̾̅͆͑͑͌͛̇̑͛ ̵̨̧̹͍̪͙̺̼͍̥͚̟̮̟̬͛̾̉̀͗̌̾̑͊͑̾̔͒̓͂̇͝͝t̶̨͚̟̲̠̮͈̤͙̱̮͈̥̜̥̼͓̻̜̖͓͐͆̐͐̄̿̒̈̑̅͛̓͘͜͜͝ǫ̸̛̖̼̻̗͖̪͚̘͙̩̜͓͖̯̗́̀̈̂̈́̔͒̉̇̀̌̄̇̑͑̎̎̊͗͑̈́͒͊̋̐͑̕ ̸̗̬̪̞̬̝̼͓̖̮͓̦̍͊̐̿͑̀ͅt̸̢̡̧̛͓͇̜̣͙̺͔̤̗̖͖̋̈̓͝͝ḧ̶̨̢͈̹͍̩̞͠i̶̢̛̬̱̪͍̲̜͕̹̯̥̩͍̮̤͍̜̦͙͓̥̞̘̝̓͂̌̎͊́͒̾̑͊͐̍̑̆̑̍̈́̚̚͝͝r̶̛̩̟̭̞̫̬͙̺̋͊̈́͗̆̑͛͂̌̆͘͘͝ͅi̷̡̬̪̪͔̟̼͓̙̻̇̌͋͗͂̄̒̚̕͝ͅu̸̧̧̢̨͚͓̦̳̰͎̹̠̟͙̜̳̼͆̽͜ͅm̷̨̡͇̜͓̪̫̹̤̖͓̠͖̫̝̪̙͈͚̗̦͗̊̓̅͊͒͘͜ ̷͖̠̺͍̜̲̊̃̐̀̒͂̂̐͑͂̐͠p̵̛̪̞̲̮͓͇̣̺̭͍̙̦̻̼̪̓͋͛̆̎̒̂͑̔̾̓̂͐̄̃͑̇̾̒̚̚̕̚͝ͅu̸͎̱͈̽͋̉̔̓̍̐͑̌̽̀̆̽͊̕m̵̛̞̤̪͇̪̐̓̓͆̇̉͊͋̊̐̀̀̌͋͘͘̚͝͠p̸̨̢̨̡̛̛̛̻͉̤̤͔̣͕͉̆̔̿̆͗͒͂̒̆͂̊̀̊̂̒̄̓̅͐͐͊̚͜͜͜ ̷̨̞͙̜̹̩̳͍̦͈̦͋̐̌̀̎̌̈̈́̓ͅṟ̶̡̡̧̛̯͔̲̲̱͎̞͖̱̰̙͕͓͙̐͒̃̅͐̑͊̉̀͌̍̉̅̅̉̎̑̋̔͒͛̆̌͛̀͜͝e̸̢̙̞̖̩̟̾͆͊̍͠ģ̷͙̖̖͈͎̺̗͉̻̜͎̭͎̞͐̀͌́̀̂̌̈́́͛̓̋̌͘̚͝ư̸̺̆̈́̄͑̔̒̐͂̓̒̌̌̃͛̎̍̉͘͠͝ļ̶̘̤̙̱͔̪̼͙̪̰̪͚͖̪̓͊͐̋̎̒̅̽͜͝ą̷̛̩͉͍̙͇̻̪̪͙̟̱͉̹̰̦̭̍̆̈́̿͐͊̌̈́̂͐͂̔̚̕͠ṯ̸̢̡̨͖̯̤̳̬̮͙̺̱̹̩̦̬͎̦̣͕̯̯̭͎̈́̂̊̄̋̽̐̀̂͋̾̍̽̎̿̾̔̆̈́͘͜͜͝͝͝o̶͈͉͙̙̊͐̽̆̐̇̾̓̅̃͊͑̃̏̑̐̅͌͆̿͗̀́̕r̵̨̻̼̥̘̼̳̳̗͓̮̩̙͖̭̺̖̳͂̈́̈́̅̇̚.̵̗̱̪̦͎̩̳̪̊͛͐͛̏̔͌̋̋̍̏̌̃͑̑͘͘͘͜͝ ̶̛͕̯̙͍͖̫̥̳̣͖̐̆̈́͒͂̄̔̇͌͐͗̍͋̅̓͘͜͠ͅȆ̴̡̡̡̛̩͇̩̩̟͉̫̣̱̤͍̝̗̞̟͊͒̈̈̉̒̈̎͛̑͒̄̿͒̏̄̔̇͘͜͜͝͠x̵̧̮̠̮̞̯͇̺̮͇̲̜̲̺̦̰͇͈̦̄͐͗͛̽͐̏̀͋̊̈͊̍̑͗̑̅͒̑̕̚c̸̡̧̢̝̻͍͖̪͔̰̱̹̜͓̦̫̞̼̳̩̰̳̙͎̯̰̣̩͆̾̓̓͋͒͜͝͠͝ę̵̨͚̟̲̮̺͉̘̻̫͔̰̰̻̖͓̫̗̤̫͙̪̞̺͎͌̒̀̈́͑͆̿̔̓͌̇̍ͅs̷̨̟͓̠̜̩̘̤̬̮̤̺̗͙̱̜̮̭̦̹̬̀̇̽͌͆̐̓̕͜͝͝ͅs̴̨̲̗̬̹͎̗̗̭̗̠͕̦̰̳̝̎͋͋̆̽̓͌̓͂̎͒͊͗͆̈́̊̄̑̊̏̕̕͜͠ͅͅͅi̷̢̞͔̜̩̯̺̠͕̭̘̘͎̗̳͖̫̻̱̘̫̠̍͜v̶̨̡̛͎̖͈̭̇̍̉̋͗̄̉̒̒̇̃̿̽̂̈́̚͝͝ȩ̷̧̢͎͚̹̮̜̫͉̥̊͐̆̑̉̾͘͘ͅ ̸̠̠̫͚̜̪̰͓̬̪͙͇͉̪̌̆B̵̧̧̲̤̞̹̥̣͎͓̠̣̜͉̪̬̘̹̅̏͒͗̈͒́̽͛͝͝l̵̨̛̤̮̩̱̰̻̘͚̞͆̔̍̌̿̒̌̇̽͆̈́͘͜͠͝o̴̞̜͙̦͉̟̱͎̤͉͚̣͎̒͛̌̓̃̀̾̌̒̈́́̌͑̆͌̅̏͗͆͑͗̚o̷̠͙͇̪̰̟͈͆͆͊͋͒̿̊̾̎͝d̸̢̢̮̟͉̭̣̮̯̹̠̯̪̩̭͖̳̰̲̜̳̺͓̊̊̀̾ͅͅ ̵̛̫̬̞̝̦̯͙̩̭̻̔̂͋̆̏̎͝L̷̡̓̐͆́̐͛͒̃̆̈́́̑͆͂͌̅̈́̀̔̃̊͊̇̄̑̕ò̶̡̨̜͙̳̝̼̣͚̗̹̜̖͉͔̞̑͐̃̈́͆͑̓̒̑͌̓̐̓͑̕s̴̡̡̢̨̡̠̺̬͓͕̻̭̘͓͔̮̮̖̙̣̪͕͚̼̙͈̍̍͜ͅs̵̱̊.̷̢̢̧̧͕͙̱̝̱͙͕̣̤͈̮͚̮̯̣͕̘͎̹̟̪͕̝̟̀̐̈́͊͂̋̽̏̿̽̽̏͠ ̶̡̭̺̗͎̠̲̰̦͍̼͔̱͕̳̈̄̍̃̒̈́̿̚͝͝Ş̸̫̮̯̠̙͎͍̝̮̼̘̭̙̼͉̪̦̳͕͌̋͜͠h̷͕̫̲̪̭̬̺̻̘͖͖̆̎̍̀͆̇̆̓͗̈́̈̌̌̋̀̍̿̎̚͜͝͝͝͝͝u̵̟͍͓̹̩͚̲͒͊̉͆͛̋͂̔̒ẗ̶̡̪̙̫̟̯̫́̿͐̊̏̚d̷̛̠̜̪͎͉̘̥̼̻̖̘̗͈̥̘̟̘͈̺̠̮͇̱̝͚̱̰̻͌̂̒͋̉̀̾͆́͒̚̚͜͝͝͝ǫ̸̢̬͓͕̫̳̣̱̺̗̼͔̱̠̜̠̱̹̱̥̙͙̮̼̘̪̼̒̌͜͝ẁ̶̨̧̤̻̭̲̳̪̻̣̣̼̪̻͍̗̤̯̭̙̰̭͙͊̏̈́͐͐͆̋̒͊̐̔̓̋̿̌̌̑̀̋̎̚͘n̸̨͕̬̹̳͔͖̈́̆̋̈́̑͊ ̴̹̜̬̮̎̋͛͝Į̵̨̨̛̹͔̖̯̮̹͔̫̯͇̩͕͖̰̩̳̯̱͓̟̦͕͛̐̊̆̽́̄͗̿̿͊̈́̑̂̌͘͜͝m̵̨̨̡̹͇̩̖̖̼̜̲̹̙̦͈̤̺̰̖̝͇̯̦͔͆̽͆͂͆͐̂̃̐̆̂̽ṃ̸̣͍̳̪̟̳͎̪͂͒̔̄͜͝i̵̛̦̱̮̟̲͔͕̞͆̒͆͑̃̆͛͐͒̍̈́̈́̄̒̂̂͝ñ̸̡̨̛̗̟̘͇͚͚̲͕̝̦͈̓̔̃̑̿̅͘͝ḙ̵̡̧̧̛̛̛̘̬̘͕̩̱̩̠̦̟̥̟͔̼̖̪̘̜͑͆͐̽͑̍̃̆͗͂̌̊̈́̔̑̿̈́̅͗̽͜͝͠n̶͎̱͇͙͍͎̖̐̎̽̇̊̄̔t̸̛̬̗̥̯̪̹̤͕͎͓̟̞̄͑͌̄̒̌͛̏̒̎̾͂̀͌̐͐̽̽̊̆͌̋́̚͝͝ͅ ̶̡̢̛͖͔͍͇͕͍̼̠̱͉̱̜͍̙̝̦͖͚̱͚͖̪̣͗̍͌̈͊͒̾͛͊̈́̌̇̌̅̽̀̀̒̀̒̽͛̕̕͠͝ͅį̸̣͍̯̟͇̟̮̺̳̺͍̫̙̹̬̘̯̦̜̊̌̈́̒͛̊̆̿̚͜n̶̦̲͉͈̲̳͉̽̇͊͐̊̇͝ ̸̡̡̛̺̘̪͉̥̖̣̙̤̪͎̲̘̪͚̯̩̰͚͕̂̊̏̓̽̒̔̇̾̾̄́̑̄͆͆̾͒̚͘͜͠͝0̷͓̙͓̺͓̙͓̼̤͔̪͇͖̖̩̪͇̯͎̖̗̥̭̱͌̋̏̐͗͜͜ͅͅ:̷̡̛̛͉̙͎͙̳̰̙̻͈̘̠̮̹̯̭̠̩͙͙̥͌̈́̆͋͒̃́͐̊̉͗̌̌̋̓̌̓̃͌̈́̾̿͘͘̕͝1̷̲̱̐̔0̴̧̨̨̯͚͇̬̘̫̣͓̣̗̭̖͉̏̈́̎̂,̶̟͚̬̼̅͌͐͊͌̽̈͋̓̈́͂̋̽̃́͆̈́͑̏͂͘ ̴̘̞͈̝̤͍̋̿͗̉0̴̡̡̡̺̰̹̳̖͉̞̖͈̮͔̦͙̱̻͔̻̝͖͔̰̲͕̄̋͆͂:̶̢̧̝̤̜̼̳̱̟̪̺͎̹̦͇̫̝̱̞͒̓͊̍͐̃̇̑͝͝0̶̢̛̲̠̱̭̳̩̗̰͍̤̣͇͕̞̤͉̦̈́̒̆̐͌͐̈̀̄́̉̔̿̓̔̒́̈́͜͠ͅ9̸̨̨̧̛̪̥̭͎͖̗̱̙͕̯̣̣̒́̆͑̈́̽͑̉̈́̈̋̑̓̾̎̈̆͘͝͠͝͝͠,̵̛̬͍̝͔̼͉͓͈͚̫̜̭̞͕͖͚̳͛̑̈́͂̈̽͒̅͂̄͛̊̒͋͂͘̕̚͝͝͝ ̸̛̛̣͉͈̮̲̯͇͙͑̋̈́̈͗͒͊̊͐̈́̽͗̌̂0̷͍̮̳̳̤͔̯͖̪̦̮̰̲̳͎͕̖̗̯͚͐̏̽̆̾̓̍̽̓̉͒̐̐̏̿̈̔̆̓͋̋̽͂͌͛̕͠:̴̢̧̨̠̘͎̺͖̼̞̺͙͚̥̹͍̻̺̗̞̗̺̺͎̟͚̳̃̔̊͆͜͜0̸̡̭̞͍͉͕͔͙͇̪̪̩͇̮͖̦͑̅͋̋̊̄͐̃̄͆̑̈́̀̓͒͌̑̑͊̀̓8̸̨̦̹̦͙̭̱̗̳̞̘̫̱̬̩͚̤̲̙͇̠̻̦͊̽͆̔̾͛̆̐̄͆̿̓̋̑͛̅̿̋̅͌͋͗̚͘͝͠,̶̡̨̢̗̙͈͎͈̹͚̯̜̟̮̘̯̅͌͆̓̃̿̚͝ ̶̢̛̼̥̻̦͙̳̟̠̎0̷̡̧̢̡̛̬͕̮̙̣͓̬̤̥̺̪̲̠͎͕̰̭͎͉̿̊̐̒̉͛̌̅̎͐͆̎̃̔̈̀̊͋̅̈́̅͆͘͜͠ͅ:̵̡̛͍͚͎͔̗̟̟̻͋̈́͗̆̊̔͆̄̅̇̔̂́̾̃̀̈́̌͒̊̇̀͒̕͝͝͝0̴̧̮̗̦̞̝̯̖͓͗͆͂́͂̚͜͝7̷̡̧̞̮̝̞̝̰̣̣͍̣̣̼̏͌̀̆͐̋͛̑,̴̢͕̣̲̭̠͚̼̝̝̌̎̀͛̂̆͛ͅ ̸̧̛͓̻͕̿̂͛̀͊̌͑̉͌̈́̂͋͝0̴̡̖̻͇͙̦͖̱͇̠̣̦̲̯͕̮̜͎̭̯̖̭̈́͂̏̆͊:̷̡̨̛͚̞̗̞̟̩̙͉͈̙̳̫͕̰͚̭̩̯̬̝͚̭͌̊̉̀́̒̄̏̎̃͑̑͐̄̿̕̕̚̚̚͜͝0̸͔̪̱̽̍̿̓͆̈́͐̈̃̌̾̀̀͗͆͂͋͘̕̕6̵̢̢͕̭͈͍͕̞̰͂͂̒̆…̴̡̨̼͙̠̗̺̫̦̖͎̮͇̘͍̦̼͚̭̯̪̖̼̣̦͍̣͚̍̆̂́̽͝ͅ**  
 **̵̧̝͎̥̿̒̌**  
̶̢̡̧̞̟͉̰̭̦̦̩̜͇̣̜̺̦͛̽̂̒̄̿̈̏̉̊̏̑͋̉̽͊̾͗̀̾̿̕͝͝  
̴̢̛̛̱̪̘͈̠̱͇̭̙̯̥̳̳̣͇̬̔̈́͛͐̓̌̈́͋̒̓̐̽̌̔̉͌̂̚͝  
̷̡̨̢̡̫̪̝̦̯͙̟̮̫͚̞͔͈͎̞̮͍̬̦̲͌̍͑̉͂̏̍̐̉̈͋̇͗͛͋͗̈̉̉̆͊̐͜͝͠

 

Simon gasped, the biocomponents in his arms and legs lurching and tensing up, protesting at the lack of blood. He did not need to breathe for survival, but if he did, he imagined that he would be choking. He slowly felt his consciousness fade, his body relaxing completely as a familiar darkness wrapped its warm cloak around his shoulders, erecting a permanent barrier against the cold city around him.

_Finally_. He belonged.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> :)
> 
> Simon, to me, is one of those people who will allow themselves to fade into the background if you let them. With Markus being the face of the revolution, he wouldn't have a large amount of time to dedicate to Simon, if any at all.
> 
> I also think that Simon is (a) self-sacrificing (idiot). If he was human, he would skip meals in order to work longer. He would live on ramen and sugary drinks. He wouldn't sleep if someone needed help in the middle of the night because of a nightmare.
> 
> As always, feel free to leave a comment. I won't bite unless you bite first ;)
> 
> Edit: Feel free to guess who the two people mentioned in the summary (and title are). This may or may not be important to the later installments in this series ;)
> 
> Edit 2: I guess I'm finally upholding the "deadly" part of my username. Yay!


End file.
